


No Dress Code: Handiwork

by GuileandGall



Series: No Dress Code [25]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Frustration, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 04:04:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13263300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/pseuds/GuileandGall
Summary: Eli likes to claim he’s great with his hands. While his manual dexterity is demonstrated on and off the stage, his handiness remains in question. Even more so after he starts nesting.





	No Dress Code: Handiwork

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fulfill a prompt from @bosselimitchell—Who does the handiwork?

The soothing silence of the house broke with a clatter of wood and the tinkling of metal. It was followed quickly by a growl and blue streak of cursing, some of which Furia understood, though not all of it. Even though she knew Eli technically spoke English, sometimes when his irritation got the better of him the lilting accent that made men and women alike swoon got a little rough around the edges. She, of course, had a soft spot for it, though trying to figure out precisely what he was talking about in those moments was akin to translating some completely foreign language.

Swollen ankles and all, she rolled—quiet literally, by her own opinion—out of their bed to waddle down the hall. Biting her bottom lip, she peeked into the room. Eli kicked a rogue piece of wood away from his foot and snatched up the directions with such force that the paper sounded like it would tear in midair. Holding it in his hand, the curses tumbled out of his mouth.

“You know?” she started. Eli whipped around and looked at her, the tension in his face dropped almost instantly.

“I thought you were napping.” He was on his feet in an instant, instructions fluttering to the floor behind him as he made a beeline for her. He took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly on the forehead then the tip of the nose, between which he asked, “I didn’t wake you, did I?” in a much-changed tone. His voice became soft and soothing, tinted with the PG-13 side of the sultry purr he was known for.

She shook her head. “No, every time I lay down this one decides it’s time to practice dancing,” she explained, her hand moving from his chest to her heavily pregnant belly. The last month had been a trial in discomfort, and she still had 8 weeks of this madness left.

Eli tipped her chin and kissed her, it was soft, lingering, just deep enough to steal her breath. He’d always been a great kisser, but with practice he’d figured out just how to kiss her and when. The man had a kiss for every occasion, or so it seemed, even soothing a very pregnant woman who can’t sleep.

Before the kiss broke, his hand moved down her arm to cover her hand on her belly. “He does?” he whispered against her lips.

When she nodded, her nose skimmed against his. “Mm-hmm. But you do realize it could be a girl?”

His grin widened and with it the corners of his vibrant aqua eyes crinkled. With a shake of his head, he said, “Nah. Only a rowdy bloke would keep his mother up like this. A little girl would have me losing sleep. She’d be more like you … too sweet to keep her mother up at all hours.”

Furia just laughed.

Both of his hands smoothed over her tummy and he slowly dropped to his knees. It was nowhere near the first time Eli had been on his knees in front of Furia, but the times it happened during her pregnancy were something she never really expected. Since the first hints of her new curves, her husband’s behavior eased her mind about this change to their lives.

He undid three buttons of her dress, bearing a patch of sienna skin where he pressed a long kiss. While his hands moved over her tummy in an attempt to soothe the savage little one who was tossing and turning about, she carded her fingers through Eli’s silky hair. The sensation of his hair threading through her fingers relaxed her as much as it did him.

“You need to let your mother sleep, if she doesn’t rest you’re the one that’s going to be miserable. Now, if you behave for a bit, let her get a nap, I’ll see if I can’t work some magic and convince her to let you listen to some real music,” he said, lips grazing her belly as he looked up at her, giving her that boyish look that almost always got him his way.

Furia tried to return a stern glance, but it failed miserably. Right now, she’d give him just about anything he wanted if he could convince their child to let her get a few uninterrupted hours of sleep.

“That Classical shite might be good for your brain, but it won’t do anything for your style, tyke.”

She groaned, when a stern kick bounced off her side.

“Bugger. That’s a hell of a hook.” Eli’s hand had been dead center when it happened, and she guided it back to the same spot.

She could feel what she figured was probably a foot still pushing in the same spot. Eli got a far-off look for a moment as he looked up at her, smiling rather dumbly.

“That’s not quite what I meant.”

In response, Furia wound up having to grab the doorjamb as the baby decided it was time for laps, or at least that’s what it felt like as the baby shifted about ferociously enough to toy with her equilibrium. Eli noticed instantly, standing and slipping his arms around her to steady her.

“You all right, love?”

“Just a little off kilter,” she assured him. Her hand tight around his bicep might not be as reassuring to him as it was to her.

With his eyes a bit wider, he guided her into the room. The only finished place to sit was the cushioned window seat, and Eli led her right to it, kicking pieces of the crib out of her path. Once he deemed it safe to do so, he crouched in front of her, eyes still studying her.

“I’m fine, Eli. Just when he gets all rambunctious, my balance gets wonky.”

“Told you it was a boy,” he replied instantly.

Furia laughed and shook her head. It was short lived and ended in a gasp. “This is definitely your kid. Always wants to be the center of attention.”

Her lightheartedness didn’t help alleviate the concern on Eli’s face. “You need to come with me this time.”

She sighed. “You know I can’t fly.”

“The dates are all close together, we’ll take the bus.”

Leaning back a little, she rubbed a circle around her belly. “This won’t fit in the bus.”

Eli thinned his lips at her. That and the uncharacteristic seriousness in his eyes, paired with the tightness in his jaw—his worry was etched all over his face. Eli shot to his feet, one hand diving in his pocket for the phone that was laying on the floor halfway across the room. “I’ll call Pierce. Cancel the dates.”

“And disappoint thousands of your fans for something that’s perfectly normal for a woman in her last trimester.” Furia tugged at his hands, finally getting both of them in hers after a tiny struggle. “I’m fine. My mother and Gabe are coming to stay while you’re gone. Maximo and the twins will be filling in whenever they can’t be here. Believe me, there’s a brigade of people who are just as concerned as you.”

“Maybe. But I should be here.”

“You’ll be bored and miserable.” Which they both knew would just irritate each of them in their own ways. She brought one hand toward her face and kissed his knuckles. “It’s only three weeks, Eli. It’s your last leg until after the birth. You’ll have five whole weeks of getting to watch me waddle around until the sight of it makes you ill.”

His hands held her face again and he pressed his lips to her forehead. “It’s kind of cute, the way you still manage to swish a little with your duck walk.”

Furia jabbed him hard in the stomach. Eli lurched back an inch, before returning and kissing her in the exact same spot again. She decided to trade a quip in his direction. “Speaking of cute. This nursery is going to need furniture soon, constructed furniture,” she emphasized, quirking her eyebrow upward at him.

“This?” Eli glanced over his shoulder. “Nothing to worry about. I can handle the cot.”

She knew Eli was nesting as much as she was. It was the only reason he agreed to put the baby furniture together. It shocked her when he decided to go that route, but Furia was nearly certain that in the three weeks he was touring she might have to buy an entirely new set because this one might not be usable, which wasn’t a big deal except that she knew Eli would be disappointed that he didn’t get to construct the baby’s crib.

For some reason she could not decipher, that had become a big deal to him. At the store, he’d seemed so taken by the idea, like somehow it would prove his preparation for fatherhood. Furia knew better. They were handling pregnancy fine, now, but what came next still scared the hell out of her. She knew she still wasn’t ready.

“And the dresser. And the changing table, the shelves, the bookcase, toy box, and my rocking chair?” she reminded.

His lips pursed a moment, then spread into that cocksure grin—the one that often got him in over his head. “You know I’m great with my hands.”

When those same hands dipped into her hair, no trace of argument graced her lips. At least not until after he kissed her with that overwhelming confidence present in the firmness of his mouth and surety of his tongue against hers. Her eyes remained closed for a moment after it broke, the hum of contentment lingering in her throat.

“That you are, though I’m not sure your …” her head tipped from side to side a moment, looking for the gentlest way to word it “… technique works on mahogany.”

“Oh, Sol, I assure you it works wonders on wood, steel, and silk,” he teased. “Last night wasn’t so long ago that you could have forgotten.” Eli’s mouth was on hers again, eagerly providing electric reminders of that which she could never forget. It easily shifted her attention far from her much-needed nap.


End file.
